


swallow her whole star intact

by littledust



Category: Black Swan (2010)
Genre: Drugged Sex, F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She dances between mirrors and Lily is reminded of the old cautionary tale: <i>Don't linger in front of your own reflection, child, or it will steal your soul.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	swallow her whole star intact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosedamask](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosedamask/gifts).



> A treat for you, dear recipient! Thanks for the absolutely WONDERFUL prompt. The title comes from a line in "Suede" by Tori Amos.

When Lily was a little girl, she had a book of strange stories, ghosts and fairies and red shoes that never stopped dancing. To her mother's horror, she colored in the illustrations with bold crayon scribbles. When she was six, she didn't have the words to explain that the white of the page looked so bare, begged for a stain of color.

Seeing Nina dance makes her think of those stories. Nina is a pale imitation of herself when she is not dancing; it is only then that the lines of her body draw together to form the delicate blush of a rose, cream save for the pink tips. She dances between mirrors and Lily is reminded of the old cautionary tale: _Don't linger in front of your own reflection, child, or it will steal your soul._ Sometimes Lily thinks of it in the morning, when she's smudging her eye makeup just so. It's a laughing matter there, but never in the studio, where monochrome presses in, doubled on all sides, leaching what faint color Nina possesses.

 _Stuck up bitch,_ the other dancers say. _The only reason she ever made it out of the corps is because Thomas wants to fuck her._

Lily doesn't want to make waves, but she always snorts at a line like that. The only reason? Have they ever seen her dance? Just because Nina freaks out over every little thing is no reason to ignore her precision, her absolute control of every move she makes. It's something Lily envies: she's too free-form, too careless in her steps, though previous teachers have praised her "natural" presence on stage. Easy to be natural in the corps, hard to fold herself within a role.

Passion. Thomas says it's what she has and Nina lacks. If Lily were a different person, a braver person, she might have said, _Just because she doesn't want you doesn't mean she lacks passion. That girl wants to dance more than anyone I've ever seen._

But she's the understudy, and he's the one with all the power.

Lily drinks and smokes and pops pills, sometimes all three in the same night. Her friends call her a little hellion, the dancer with the balls of steel. Partying the way she does is dangerous, but the thumping bass of the music seeps into her body and accelerates her heartbeat, her adrenal glands. Drugs slow her down long enough to breathe, give her merciful patches of black clarity in her memory. The possibility that she might never wake up is just another fairytale meant to scare small children onto the straight and narrow.

 _Keep your eyes peeled for a handsome prince,_ she slurred when someone last whispered that tale in her ear.

She watches Nina so often that the other dancers finally take notice, and this time they include Lily in their cutting comments. _If you love her so much, why don't you marry her?_ they ask, because dancers are a pack of elementary schoolers with tiny boobs. Lily flips them off with customary good cheer and soon they're laughing with her, not at her, and she's left to contemplate Nina slipping away between the mirrors. Lily has no fucking clue why Thomas keeps bitching about Nina never losing herself to the dance.

"Come with me," Lily beckons Nina, and draws her into shadow.

This is her favorite kind of dancing, a wild animal story told with limbs and sweat. She sings nonsense words over the drums and scatters laughter like applause. Anything, she can have anything, pulsing at the heart of the club with the lights. She drags her fingers over eager flesh, dips her mouth to taste of the fruit, more fairy rules left to crumble in the wake of her appetite. She makes up a melody for being trapped under the mound, changes it to Hades for the sake of the meter.

NinaandLily dance, drink, kiss, leave.

It's true what they say about people dancing the way they fuck. Lily's watched Nina watching her, knows what her eyes are saying even if her lips never will, but she's never felt an answering ripple in her core until tonight, when Nina arches her back to snatch a shot off a waistress's tray.

They step out of the club and into another, colder fairyland, concrete teeth sinking into velvet sky. "Snow queen," Lily sighs against Nina's neck, then hails a cab. Nina dissolves into giggles every time she tries to tell the cab driver her address, so Lily gives him hers and they scream off into the night.

She doesn't mean to slide a hand between Nina's legs in the car, either: that is, she does, but it's all impulse and magnetism, two opposite poles seeking each other without conscious intent. Nina brushes her hand aside and mumbles something about her mother, so Lily says, "The tattoos on my back are from a second-rate drug dealer but a first-rate artist. Wanna see 'em?"

Prince Charming probably had better lines, but Nina laughs and sways against Lily, pressing her shoulder against hers.

Lily slides her key into her door smooth as silk, which is something she only ever accomplishes when intoxicated; normally, she drops her keys and sends them skittering away when she bends to retrieve them. The door yawns open and this time it's Nina pulling her inside, Nina toeing the door closed with one graceful flick of her leg, hands too eager to bother with the light.

"Hang on, bedroom's this way," Lily says, hooking a finger into the neckline of Nina's shirt and pulling, crooking the other finger in a ridiculous come hither gesture. Shit, this is the best idea she's ever had. Nina trips on the way, Little Miss Perfect actually _trips_ , and she laughs so loud at it that Lily can see down her throat, red and wet.

"I gotta," Lily starts, pulling the chain on her light. One of the bulbs flickers and dies. "Sorry 'bout the mess, laundry day is sometime after the show closes, I think--"

She's never the one doing the talking, always the one who speaks best with eyes and hands, but Nina reaches out, takes her face in her hands, and lays one on her like she's been wanting this since the moment she saw Lily. "Um," Lily agrees, wrapping her arms around Nina so she can dig her nails into her back. Nina hisses in approval, writhing in her grip.

"You _like_ this," Lily breathes, drawing back. "You ran out from under Mommy's thumb and now you can't wait, you want it so bad, you--"

Nina kisses her assent, a slow glide of tongue between Lily's lips. This is Lily's second favorite dance, equally primal, the audience lacking but the participants focused, a story unto themselves. Lily peels off Nina's shirt as Nina tugs down Lily's skirt, synchronized through symbols: a lowering of eyelashes, a mirror image expression of lust and tentative awareness.

Lily reaches out, palming Nina's breasts still trapped in the baby pink bra. "I'd fuck you in front of everyone if I could," she says, because there's a way to combine her favorite dances, some kind of freaky postmodern blur between art and porn.

It's the wrong thing to say to Nina, though, because her breath starts coming fast like she's scared instead of turned on. Lily tugs her onto her unmade bed with a little croon that's meant to be comforting, kissing her neck in apology. "I'll be your little secret," she promises, spinning stories out of nothing, talking just to be talking as she slides a hand into one of Nina's bra cups. "We'll go to work tomorrow and no one will know how I made you come three times in a row but everyone will see you dance, that's what you want, their eyes on you as someone else, but it's me seeing you now, the way you really are."

"Stop," Nina moans, all soft skin and hardening nipples. Lily pulls her hand out and leans back into kneeling upright, wiggling her fingers at Nina and smirking. Nina closes her eyes and tilts her chin, baring her throat. "Never mind. Don't stop."

"I knew you were hot for me," Lily crows, and bends to lick a long stripe from the center of Nina's ribcage to her navel. Foreplay is fun, don't get her wrong, but the fun of fucking a girl is playing with a pussy that's not your own, and she wants to know what Nina has under those ridiculous pink panties. She whips them off as only a girl used to quick costume changes can, laughing when Nina's hands rise to wrap around the bedposts. She hasn't even _started_ yet.

(It should tell her a lot, Nina being so desperate that she's like this after five minutes of making out, but the drugs are still simmering through Lily's system, and her thoughts flash on and off like club lights.)

Lily spreads Nina open, slicking her fingers before popping one in her mouth, dropping Nina a slow wink when she opens her eyes. If Nina's gonna play the virgin, Lily can play the whore, sure.

When she lowers her mouth to Nina's pussy, though, it's not about playing games, it's pure enjoyment of the moment, Nina's sharp salt taste on her tongue, Nina's white thighs cradling her face. Lily reaches up to grip Nina's hips, remembering how she likes it when she digs her fingernails in, which she does, hard enough to hurt. Nina's breath is coming in gasps now, but it's not enough, not yet. Lily traces her name with her tongue, agonizingly slow, and tries not to squirm against the mattress. Fuck, she's wet enough that she can feel her panties sticking to her.

Nina whimpers, "Lily, Lily, Lily" at long last, so Lily starts fucking her in earnest, swift hard strokes across her clit, rhythmic as a warm-up, a prelude to the main event. Everything is Nina, touch and taste and sight and smell and sound, Lily out of her mind yet within herself, a tongue, a pair of hands, a body bent around one concept, one woman. Nina gives a full-body shudder and cries out.

"Amazing," Lily says, stretching back up to kiss Nina, her hand already halfway down her panties. She grinds a hip into Nina, more skin one skin, close enough already that she can feel the hot little shocks of pleasure coursing her, just shy of pain. Nina turns her head towards her, expression dazed, and strokes the skin of her stomach with one tentative hand. Lily bucks up into Nina's hand and her own hand alike, and comes with a hissed, " _Fuck_."

Prince Charming probably would have lasted longer, but Prince Charming had to go longer between repeats.

Lily hums in pleasure, burying her face in Nina's neck as she rides out the last of her orgasm. When she settles down into hazy contentment, she murmurs, "Party's just getting started, ya know. My jaw's not even sore yet."

A sigh is the only response she gets. Lily opens her eyes. Oh, come on, is this girl for real? One round and she's out for the count, sleeping like a well-fucked baby. Well-fucked lady. Well, it's not like Nina's used to clubbing, though the sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll seem to have agreed with her: there's color in her cheeks, darker than the stupid baby doll pink she wears all the time. More like a carnation, or a rose.

On the way back from washing her face, just before she crawls back into bed with Nina, Lily throws a blanket over her mirror. There's only one mirror in here, as far as she knows, but it's like the stories always say: better safe than sorry.

Lily shuts her eyes and dreams of feathers falling, soft and white.


End file.
